The Greek's Pregnant Bride

‘Show me what?’

He straightened his shirt, then turned back to face her. ‘I’ll take you to meet her. You can see for yourself why I don’t want my mother anywhere near our wedding.’

* * *

The car came to a stop outside an immaculate two-storey house in a quiet Athenian suburb.

No sooner had the engine been turned off than Christian got out, not bothering to wait for the driver to open the door for him.

The entire drive had been conducted in silence, Christian sitting ramrod-straight, only the whiteness of his knuckles betraying what lay beneath his skin.

It was a demeanour Alessandra had never seen from him before. It unnerved her.

That he’d cancelled his first appointment of the day had unnerved her even more; that, and the grim way he’d said, ‘Let’s get it over with.’

with a deep sense of dread that she followed him out of the car and up

short white hair appeared at the door, lines all over her weathered face, her thin lips clamped together

heel and walked back inside,

strong

a beautiful home

could speak English, she made a good show of hiding it. She made no show of hiding her disdain for Alessandra, refusing her hand when Christian introduced them, and looking through her when Alessandra

together in the immaculate kitchen, where the stench of bleach was even stronger.

When he replied, his answers were short but measured. At one point he seemed to be

years, Alessandra had never sat in

something almost unhinged in Elena Markos’s demeanour. Her eyes were the same blue as Christian’s but were like a frozen winter morning without an ounce of her

by this woman made her skin feel as icy as Elena’s eyes. But Christian couldn’t

any wonder Christian eschewed any form of emotional entanglement when this

not appreciated then exactly how great his determination must have been, not just to drag himself and his mother out of poverty but